


Bug Bytes

by AlastorGrim



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Peter Parker, Bad BDSM Etiquette, But He Can And Will Kick Your Ass, Dimension Travel, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Extremis (Marvel), He Is Very Unsafe, He's an asshole, Human Experiments, Identity Porn, Jealousy, M/M, Peter Is A Tired Bun, Poor Peter Parker, Possessive Tony Stark, Red Trio Friendship, Slow Burn, Someone Help Daredevil, Sort Of, Stalking, Superior Iron Man Vol 1. (2015), Superior!Tony, Throwing All Spideys Into One Spidey, Tony Doesn't Like Safewords, Tony Thinks It's Cute, Universalized Drug Use, also hot, except not really, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlastorGrim/pseuds/AlastorGrim
Summary: During Peter's showdown with Mysterio, he manages to get his hands on Mysterio's interdimensional transporter. But instead of taking him home, like it was supposed to, it shot Peter to a whole new dimension. A dimension where Iron Man is still alive and Thanos never happened.But Peter soon learns that Iron Man's continued existence isn't the blessing he thought it would be. Because this one is arrogant, cruel, and seemingly unstoppable.But that sure as hell doesn't mean that Peter's not going to try.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things—as you'll notice above, this is not strictly MCU Peter. It's not strictly _any_ Peter. I took all the things I liked from each version of Spidey and were convient for the plot and just...yeeted them into one person. So while Peter and Tony were close in Peter's original verse, Tony never figured out who Peter was, mostly because Peter volunteered to help him first, so Tony never had to go looking for him. After that he didn't go sniffing around for Peter's identity because he was trying to respect Spider-Man's boundaries, but they would occasionally work together on things in Tony's lab, while Tony tried to needle Peter into letting him upgrade his suit from spandex to nanotech. Peter also made his own suit, btw, so he said no. 
> 
> Also! I feel like this is important to announce now because if you've come here looking for it you're going to be disappointed: THERE WILL BE MINIMAL DADDY KINK IN THIS FIC. BY MINIMAL I MEAN IT HAPPENS IN JOKES AND TONY TRIES TO PUSH IT BUT PETER'S NOT INTO IT. SO IF YOU WERE DYING FOR SOME SUPERIOR IRON DADDY, YOU'D BE BETTER OFF SOMEWHERE ELSE. I love me some defiant, sassy Peter, so he's not going to be begging Tony to fuck him or calling him daddy. Sorry, not sorry. SASSY PETER IS SUPERIOR.
> 
> I also have a major trope boner for identity porn, so guess who's milking that for as long as possible? It's me :3

_"I'm the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I'm not playing God. All this time, I've been playing_ **_human_** _."_

∆

Peter stumbled into the wall of a dark alley, and was immediately assaulted by a few metrics tons of rain. Coughing and spluttering, gunsmoke still stuck in the back of his throat, Peter yanked his mask off and dry heaved for a few minutes. Mysterio's stupid device spun away from his spasming fingers and plopped into a dirty puddle. It fizzled and spat for a moment, then shuddered and went dark.

"Shit," Peter gasped, even as he tried to wrangle his stomach back up from his heels. Without Mysterio there to stabilize it, the trip had been… _bumpy_.

By the time Peter gathered himself enough to realize that he wasn't in London and instead was standing beside a dumpster in a dirty alley way, there was a loud, persistent buzzing noise growing closer from above. Recognizing that wherever he had ended up, he wasn't ready to be outed as Spider-Man, Peter quickly stripped the rest of his suit, tucked it, his ripped mask, and Mysterio's transporter into a ball under his arm, then booked it up the wall and into the nearest open window.

Actually, now that Peter was looking, all the windows were broken. The building must've been abandoned. Maybe Lady Luck had decided he deserved a break.

Peter tiptoed his way between spatters of glass shards to hide behind a thick concrete pillar as whatever was making the buzzing noise descended into the alley he'd vacated. Glancing around the pillar, his eyes widened as they alighted on some sort of drone, scanning the area. Peter whipped his head back around the side of the pillar and held his breath.

There were a few tense moments where Peter prayed that the drones wouldn't scan the buildings, because he could do many things, but erase his own heat signature was not one of them. The drones scanned the alley twice more, made a strange beeping noise, then flew away. Peter heaved out a relieved breath. Then immediately sneezed.

Right.

He was soaked to the bone, in his birthday suit, standing in a building made primarily of metal and concrete. It was _cold_.

Taking another minute or so to make sure the drones were really gone, Peter then high-tailed it out of the building and skirted his way through the shadows of the streets until he reached a section of the city that wasn't abandoned. He webbed the suit to the bottom of a dumpster and knocked on the door of a convenience store about to close. The little Chinese woman who had been on her way to lock the door paused at the sight of him, eyes wide.

Peter gave her a wry wave, and she hurried over to open the door. A blast of warm air hit him in the face, and he sighed. "Thanks."

"Why are you naked?" The woman asked abruptly. Straight to the point. Peter winced.

"...I got mugged. They took all my stuff, even my clothes." Peter stepped inside the store and made sure to keep to the welcome mat so he didn't get the floor wet. He held his torso and bit his lip. "I don't suppose you'd lend me some clothes? I mean, I don't have any money, obviously, but I could work for them if you want?" He tried as his teeth started to chatter. Peter didn't like lying, but he was mentally patting himself on the back for this one. Besides, it wasn't like he could tell her the truth anyway.

"I have towels in the back," The woman said after a moment, brow furrowed. "I will get you one. And clothes. When I come back, we will see what I have in your size."

Peter inclined his head in thanks and watched her as she disappeared into what he assumed the break room. Palms scrubbed over chilled skin as he waited, mind on the bundle outside. To take his mind off the cold, Peter turned his attention to the newsstand next to him. He blinked.

' **STARK REVEALS NEW UPDATE FOR EXTREMIS!** '

_What?_

"Tony?" Peter breathed, disbelieving. He shook his head and squinted at the paper, but the words remained the same. Tony was _alive_?

Peter jolted as he remembered the device currently tangled up in his torn mask, then swallowed. No, this was obviously a different world than the one he'd come from. Beck travelled dimensions with that thing, and Peter must have travelled to one where Tony was still alive. But he'd never heard of whatever that Extremis thing was. Maybe it had been something Tony was working on before Thanos?

He reached forward and thumbed through the magazines until he found another one with Tony on the cover. He tugged it to the front, only to fumble it. Brown eyes stared at the odd sight in front of him, unsure what to make of it.

Tony Stark smirked out at him from the magazine cover, eyes as blue as the sky.

Well. That settled it.

"Definitely a different dimension," Peter murmured as he stooped to pick it up and replace it on the stand. He thought idly back to the Tony of his dimension, with his weird beard style choices, whiskey eyes, frown lines—

— _half his face charred black, mouth gone slack, light fading from his eyes_ —

Peter shook himself violently, feeling nauseous. He looked up as the lady reemerged from the back room with a large, scruffy looking towel. Her mouth twisted down as she noticed what Peter was looking at, but she merely handed him the towel.

"Here. Dry yourself, and then we will see about clothes."

"Thank you," Peter said earnestly as he scrubbed himself down with the scratchy towel, ruffled it through his hair, then tucked it over his shoulders like a shawl to follow after the lady. She huffed at him, but didn't seem too annoyed. Peter was going to count that as a win. They made it over to the sparse racks of convenience store clothes, and the woman began to flick through the racks of pants with rapid precision. "My old jeans were, uh, large," He tried, aiming for helpful. The woman gave him a once over and raised her eyebrows dubiously.

"Well you will have medium pants now." She went back to flicking through the racks.

Peter flushed, though at this point he was unsure if it was from embarrassment or a fever setting in. The lady threw a pair of pants at him, then grabbed a random shirt and tossed it at him as well. She pointed toward the bathrooms. "Go change. Then you can sweep and stock, for the clothes. Then you leave."

He nodded rapidly. "Right, right. Uh, thanks, by the way. For the clothes. Miss…?"

"Mrs. Chen. The clothes are not free! Change, then sweep!" She directed him to the bathroom again with a scowl.

"Okay, um, Mrs. Chen, thanks." Peter ducked into the bathroom to change. The shirt was way too big, but the pants fit, much to Peter's chagrin. When he was properly clothed, he poked his head out of the bathroom to see Mrs. Chen sitting behind the counter. He ventured out of the bathroom and stood awkwardly by the snacks. "Where's the broom?"

"In the closet." She pointed without looking up from the magazine she had opened. It was the same one Peter had been looking at earlier.

Peter hurried over to the janitor's closet, pulled out the broom, and got to work. It was quiet work, and it gave Peter a moment to calm down enough for the entire situation to hit him right in the face. He was stuck in an alternate dimension with changes from his own that he didn't know the extent of, and therefore couldn't plan around. Mysterio's transporter had shorted out and would need to be fixed before Peter could go home, but he knew nothing about fixing multi-dimensional devices. He had no money, no identity, and nowhere to go.

So, essentially, Peter was royally screwed.

A heavy sigh gusted out of his lips, and he frowned. First order of business, finding out the differences between this world and his. Iron Man still existed, so mutants and other heroes had to be around too, right? Maybe Spider-Man existed here too. Though, if that was the case, Peter would have to be careful. He didn't want to be mistaken for a villain trying to pose as himself.

God, that was such a weird sentence.

Priority number two was definitely trying to fix the transporter. But Peter wasn't sure he could do that. It had been half broken when Peter had snagged it, and then been immediately dropped into dirty water after he exacerbated the damage by using it again.

A soft grumble of, " _Gāisǐ de Stark._ " Reached Peter's ears, and he perked up. Though he didn't understand most of it, he understood the last part. While it hadn't exactly been said in a good tone, it gave Peter an idea.

Maybe he could ask Tony for help on fixing the device. They had worked together on a few things in Tony's lab, though Peter had always had his mask on. However much he trusted Tony, Peter knew better than to reveal his identity to someone, even if he liked them. It was what had killed Gwen, driven Harry insane, gotten MJ kidnapped, and almost killed Ned. So no revealing his identity to Tony, alternate world or otherwise. Which made trying to get his help infinitely harder, now that Peter thought about it. Maybe he could just go as Spider-Man? But what if Spider-Man didn't exist here? Or worse, what if he _did_ and he was a different person that was close enough with Tony that he had no problem taking off the mask?

Peter was spiralling into a panic, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Infinite dimensions meant infinite possibilities, and his brain was willing and eager to dreg up every worst case scenario and cheerfully remind him that, since it was an alternate dimension, it was entirely possible that they could come to pass.

Okay, so he couldn't go to Tony. Not until he'd gathered some more information, anyway. Again, priority numero uno.

Dr. Banner, then? Or maybe Xavier would be willing to help.

Peter huffed as he neatened the pile of dirt he'd accumulated, then swept it into the dustpan. Everything was speculation until he had more data with which to proceed. Peter absently stocked shelves as he tried to remember where the library was, only to realize that he had no idea where he was. He'd been in Italy when he left his world, but had somehow ended up back in the United States, in what he suspected was New York. It was the only state he knew with a Chinatown, anyway.

"Uh, excuse me, Mrs. Chen? Could you tell me where exactly in New York this is?" Peter called.

"How do you not know where you are?" Mrs. Chen asked incredulously, brows raised at him over the magazine.

"I was wandering a long time before I found a place that was open. I'm from Queens." Peter figured it wouldn't hurt to tell her. It wasn't like she had his name or anything, and besides, even if she did it wasn't like she would _check_.

Mrs. Chen huffed at him, then fluffed her magazine. "Lower Manhattan."

Peter blinked. Well then, that settled it. He'd head for a library tonight (probably sleep there), then see about getting some cash for a bus to wherever he needed to go next. Which, again, he wouldn't _know_ until he got around a computer. Peter missed his phone. Easy access to the interwebs.

He finished stocking the shelves and made his way to the front of the store again. Shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, Peter tucked his thumbs into his pockets and blew out a breath. "Well, um, thanks, Mrs. Chen. Anything else?"

She peered over the magazine at him again, eyes shrewd. After another minute or so of looking him over, she grumbled something under her breath in Chinese and rummaged beneath the counter for a moment. She brought a stack of ones out onto the counter, tied with a dirty rubber band. Pushing it towards him, she grunted, "Get yourself home."

Peter's eyes widened, and a smile curled his lips. "Are you sure? The clothes weren't free, after all."

"Take it and get out before I beat you out with the broom," Mrs. Chen threatened half-heartedly, a glare quickly concealed by the grinning visage of Blue-Eyed Tony.

"Alright," Peter laughed as he slid the thin stack of ones in his back pocket. There had to be at least twenty dollars in it. "Thanks again, Mrs. Chen!" He chirped as he went to the door. The rain was still pouring, but now that Peter didn't have to skirt around through the shadows, he could move a lot quicker. He gave Mrs. Chen a salute and hurried outside to retrieve his suit bundle. He yanked it from beneath the dumpster and proceeded to book it towards the library. He had only been in the one in Lower Manhattan a handful of times, but Peter was pretty sure he was headed in the right direction.

Occasionally the tell-tale buzz of those weird drones would warn Peter to drop out of sight and scan range, but his hearing was advanced enough that he had plenty of warning. They never even came close to him.

By the time Peter reached the library, he had been walking for thirty minutes in the pouring rain. Again. He was less wet though, thanks to the amount of shop canopies that ran down that side of the street. Peter had to duck around the side of the library and climb the wall to open one of the second floor windows. He slid in, shut the window softly, and shook himself out like a dog.

It shouldn't take too long for Peter to get what he needed from the library computers, but he was seriously considering just spending the night there, what with how late it already was. Not to mention he was aching from his earlier fight with Mysterio and his hurtle through the multiverse.

Booting up one of the monitors, Peter plopped down in a chair and pulled up Google. First things first, he typed in Spider-Man. Zero results.

Peter blinked, expression owlish.

Well then.

He typed in Peter Parker next, to similar results. But he did a thorough search, just to be sure. Eventually he found an article in an old newspaper; the very same article that had displayed his parents' deaths. Except there was one more name added onto the obituary. Peter Parker was dead, killed in the same car crash his parents had been.

Peter swallowed. "That solves that, I guess," He croaked, feeling cold. Shaking his head, he pulled up a few more hero names, just to see. Daredevil was here, which Peter was grateful for, but so was Deadpool. "Less grateful about that, but at least here he seems to make a lot less trouble."

The Hulk was here too, along with Captain America. Cap was off world though, and from what the websites were telling him, would be for the foreseeable future. But Dr. Banner was stationed in San Francisco, working for Stark Industries. Which brought Peter to his last search.

Typing 'Iron Man' into the search bar brought more results than any other, along with hundreds of mentions of Extremis. Peter clicked on Tony's wiki page first, just to get a feel for the man first before delving into whatever new tech of his the world was screaming about now. Blue-Eyed Tony was more or less the same, it seemed, though his birthday was on March 13th, not May 29th, and he favored blue and silver over gold and red. If the design of his suit was anything to go by, this Tony was a touch more arrogant than his Tony. Seriously, removing the faceplate was just straight up _hazardous_.

But Peter didn't notice anything amiss until he exited out of Tony Stark's wiki page and into Extremis'. As Peter read over the explanation for exactly what Extremis, he had to do a double take. All the blood drained out of his face as he reread the article again.

"Oh God," Peter breathed, horrified.

' _The Extremis 3.0 App allows its user to download the 3.0 version of the Extremis serum into their body in order to obtain physical perfection—perfect health! Originally released in San Francisco, Tony Stark has outsourced the App to two other major cities: New York and D.C. However, due to the rise in demand for the App, which is priced at nearly a hundred dollars a month, there was a rise in crime between Extremis' trial run in San Francisco and its release to the rest of the world. But Tony Stark truly thought of everything, including security measures. Stark drones monitor and protect the citizens of all cities Extremis can be accessed in. They track height, gait, physical tells as well as vital tells to ensure that anyone who disobeys the law is caught promptly. San Francisco has become a crime-free city, with New York and Washington following quickly behind! For all you criminals out there—there is nowhere to hide._ '

Peter was going to be sick. This—This was awful. And to think that Tony…

A slightly hysterical laugh erupted from Peter's lips, eyes wild as he shoved his hands through his hair. Of course, out of all the dimensions to land in, Peter had to drop into the one where his idol is a fucking _supervillain_.

Peter was so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

After powering through not one but _two_ panic attacks, Peter printed out the Wikipedia pages and folded them up and into his pocket. Then he left the library and hopped on one of the later buses that ran towards Hell's Kitchen. New York may have been heading towards being crime-free, but it wasn't yet, and Peter had a certain, mentally challenged mercenary to visit.

The bus driver kept shooting him weird looks, seeing as Peter was the only one on the bus, but Peter ignored him as he ran through and scrapped plan after plan after plan. He had his information, and now he needed to act on it. 

Though _how_ exactly he was going to do that, he had no idea.

Peter considered going to Daredevil first, but ultimately decided against it. If anyone was going to believe him about travelling from another dimension, much less help him find a way back, it would be Deadpool.

It put a dent in the bundle of ones Mrs. Chen had given him to take the bus, but with those drones flying around he didn't want to risk swinging. Peter didn't know if swinging counted as 'gait', but he sure as hell didn't want to find out. Fortunately, thanks to his enhanced hearing, he could hear the drones coming, so they hadn't come close to him yet. 

Peter was too wired to accurately tell how long the ride to Hell's Kitchen was, but the sky was beginning to lighten by the time the driver pulled to a stop, so that was something. High tailing it off the bus, Peter threw a half-assed wave over his shoulder at the bus driver then bolted for the darker parts of town. It took him a few long minutes and more than a couple wrong turns to find it, but Peter was eventually able to stumble into Sister Margaret's. 

More than a few heads turned his way, including the shrewd eyes of the bartender. Weasel. Peter was past caring about anyone else. He made a beeline for the bar and slammed his hands down on top of it. "I need to talk to Wade Wilson."

Weasel regarded him warily for a moment, then gave him a once over and blinked. Then blinked again, slower this time. "He's out. Leave a message and I'll make sure it gets to him."

Setting his jaw, Peter leaned forward and lowered his voice where only Weasel would hear. "Don't bullshit me, Hammer. This is serious. I need to talk to Wilson, and I'm not leaving until he parks his ass in front of me to hear me out."

A hiss guttered out of Weasel's mouth at the name, his expression abruptly venomous. Peter met his scowl with one of his own, unyielding. After a moment, in which Weasel seemed to contemplate how much effort he wanted to put into the situation, he kicked himself back with a grunt and twirled the rotary phone from it's holder into his palm. "Hey, asswipe, get down here. Some jailbait kid is demanding your ass for some reason. I don't even want to know what you did this time--no, I don't _care_!" Weasel barked. "Get down here now, before the kid gets shanked on my bartop."

With that, he slammed the phone back into the holder and turned back to Peter. Wiping out a glass, Weasel jerked his head at one of the empty barstools. 

"He's on his way. Cool it, shortstack," He snapped with a glare in Peter's direction.

"Thanks," Peter bit out. He sat down and set the folder of wiki pages on the bartop in front of him. Tapping his fingers nervously along the bridge of the folder, Peter ran through potential vague answers to the questions Deadpool would no doubt ask. 

"So, how'd a kid like you get tangled up with Krueger?"

Brown eyes flicked up to see Weasel watching him closely, eyebrow raised. Peter grimaced. "Don't say it like that, gross. And I'm not a kid."

Weasel shrugged and switched out the glass in his hand for a dirty one. "How old are you then?"

A thin smile twitched at Peter's lips as he clutched the folder closer to himself. "Nice try, Weasel. I know better than to give you anything you think you can use."

Behind the thick frame of his glasses, Weasel's eye twitched. Then he was suddenly in front of Peter, close enough that Peter could make out the faded shades of gray, green, and blue in an iris with a too small pupil. Peter blinked. "Thing is, I wanna know how you know that. Cause kid, if I ever saw you in here before today, I would've remembered you, and I fucking don't. So who the hell are you?" 

Was Weasel...nervous?

' _Well, I guess I did just basically deadname him in a crowded bar of murderers_ ,' Peter thought with a slight wince.

Before Peter could answer, a large body slung itself into the barstool beside him. "Hello there, Precious Moments! What's an innocent little place like you doing in a boy like this?"

Deadpool was the same as always, it seemed. He was almost relieved. Even with what he'd gathered from his amateur sleuthing, Peter had been idly worried that there was some big change that he'd missed. Peter tapped his fingers nervously on the folder and inclined his head. "Deadpool." With a narrow glance at Weasel, Peter quickly decided that he was too tired for this and decided to just plow forward. "I need your help."

"What can I do ya for, Bambi?" Deadpool chirped, pushing his fists into his cheeks in a mockery of fascination.

"I'm from an alternate dimension," Peter rushed out, just ripping off the band-aid. "And I thought if anyone could help me get back, it would be you. Was I wrong?"

To his credit, Deadpool just blinked at him before responding, "How 'alternate' are we talking here?"

While Weasel spluttered over how calmly the mercenary seemed to be taking this, Peter plowed on. "I'm dead here. Which, you know, scary but convenient in the long run. And," Peter paused here to fiddle with the folder in his hands for a minute in indecision. After a moment of angsting over whether he should really be trusting _Deadpool_ with this, Peter shoved it forward onto the bartop. "And Iron Man wasn't a supervillain."

Weasel went quiet at that, his jaw clicking shut as he glanced around the room fervidly. When he saw that no one was looking--Peter hadn't shouted it, for God's sake, he wasn't an idiot--he leaned forward and hissed, "You can't just say shit like that out loud."

"Yeah, almost the whole of New York is sucking his egotistical dick right now," Deadpool chimed in as he opened the folder. "Wouldn't want to get lynched by the Stark fan mob, now would you?" He sang as he flipped through the pages.

"But it's true," Peter insisted with a frown. He lowered his voice further, just to appease Weasel's frantic surveillance. "Look, whatever this Extremis thing is, it's not good. But I don't know the inner workings of it, since the Tony Stark of my universe didn't invent it. Or, even if he did, he had the good sense not to _use_ it."

"Uh huh. Cool." Deadpool snapped the folder shut and stared at Peter, jovial demeanor gone. "What does this have to do with your little Rick and Morty crisis? Or me, for that matter."

Peter wet his lips and fidgeted. "The device I came here with is broken, and I don't know how to fix it. I stole it from Mysterio--"

"Who the hell is that?"

"And he's the only one that knew how it worked. Yeah, I need your help--I know you have some really out-there connections--but I'm also not naive enough to believe that you'll just help me out of the goodness of your heart. So I'm offering a trade. You help me with my little problem, and I help you with yours."

Weasel's scoff cut off whatever Deadpool was opening his mouth to say. "You seriously think you can take on the bastard? I hate to break it to you, kid, but whatever Disney princess version of Iron Man you had in your world ain't this one. He will fucking _crush_ you."

"Like a bug!" Deadpool chirped. 

"Look, in my world I worked for Stark Industries. As an intern, but I knew the inner workings well enough," Peter explained impatiently. "I can get in and get intel on Extremis, maybe even enough to shut it down. But I need the paperwork that comes with landing a job at Stark Industries: credentials, a diploma, a _birth certificate_. Enough that it'll hold up under inspection. If you help me-- if you _trust_ me," He stressed, nearing desperate. "I can shut it down."

"Disregarding the fact that you don't look like you could lie to save your life, much less fool the self-proclaimed smartest man in the world," Deadpool drawled. "Who's to say I even care about Stark being an evil bastard?"

Peter's eyes widened and he gaped. "You--You can't just be okay with this! This affects everyone, even you, Wade, and I don't believe for one second that you would back Extremis."

There was a long, tense moment of silence where Peter and Deadpool stared at each other, with Weasel glancing awkwardly back and forth between the two of them. The silence stretched, thick and high-strung, but Peter refused to back down. Suddenly Deadpool let out a sigh and rolled his eyes, arms crossed. "Fine. Fine! You got me, alright? I fucking hate the damn app, and it doesn't work for me anyway. So yeah, I'll help you take it out."

Peter rolled right past his own surprise and elation to launch into his next question. "And the transporter?"

"I'll have Cable take a look at it." Deadpool waved a hand flippantly, then extended it to Peter. "So, I'd say we have a deal, Bambi."

"Deal," Peter replied as he cautiously took Deadpool's hand and shook.

Then, after an awkward moment of silence, Deadpool slowly turned his head to look at Weasel. He didn't even seem surprised, just annoyed. When Weasel caught sight of Peter's taken aback expression, he rolled his eyes. "Who the fuck did you think would be forging your papers--Santa?" He sneered. He pursed his lips and huffed through his nose. "I don't like the App either. A crimeless New York isn't profitable, and I'd rather Stark didn't hound my ass if I keep my business going in his stupid Utopia."

"Dystopia, more like," Peter muttered.

"Whatever," Weasel griped. "Only reason I'm helping you is because none of this shit can be traced back to me. When everything's said and done, it's your ass on the line, not mine. And better you than me." He shrugged and tossed the still cloudy glass with the others, infuriatingly nonchalant.

"Gee, thanks," Peter drawled sarcastic, mouth twisted down in a scowl.

Deadpool clapped his hands together and his mask stretched in a grin. "Alright bitches! Let's get this party started!"

Peter shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "We're missing a member of our little rebellious crusade. I have someone I wanna recruit. Don't worry, they're close by."

Red leather lifted in a mockery of a raised eyebrow. "Who'd you have in mind?"

•✴️•

"No!"

"Matt, please," Peter tried again, mindful of Deadpool tapping his foot in the background. 

"I don't even know who you are," Matt snapped back, tone scathing. His eyes were a clear, sea blue. Insightful. _Definitely not blind_. "Or if your outrageous 'alternate timeline' story is even true. You don't have any proof."

"Well, the Matt from my timeline would have at least heard me out first before trying to slam the door in my face," Peter shot back, irritated.

"You obviously didn't know him very well then." Matt sniffed.

Peter was just about ready to explode. They had been standing in the hallway of an old apartment building arguing for the past thirty minutes. Someone was bound to overhear something they weren't meant to like this, but Matt was being incredibly stubborn. "No, it was just that in my dimension being Daredevil _meant_ something more than just sitting back and doing nothing when people need your help!"

He snorted. "Oh please. Extremis is the best thing to happen to this Godforsaken place. Stark's making a world where heroes will be obsolete. Besides, you can't help people that don't want to be helped."

There was a tinge of bitterness, of defeat, in his voice. Like he'd already to fight this battle. And lost. Miserably. 

Peter's anger fled him as he realized.

"He gave you your sight back. I thought it was just this dimension, but you used to be blind here too, didn't you?" He asked softly, desolate understanding knotting through his chest.

Matt flinched as if struck. Indignation colored his cheeks and he stood up straighter. "I don't need some random stranger preaching at me about what it means to be a hero," He seethed, angrier than Peter had ever seen him.

Deadpool snickered quietly behind him, "Heh. Preach."

Peter ignored him. He gnawed at his bottom lip until he drew blood, then sighed. "Look, Matt, you don't have to help us, okay? I'm not going to make you feel like a bad person for wanting to see. But you have to promise me that you won't tell Tony about this," He pleaded. Matt's expression tensed, but Peter blurted out the rest of his speech before Matt could get a word in edgewise. "You can't tell him about me, or what I'm trying to do. You don't have to help, Matt, but you damn well shouldn't stop someone else from trying."

The muscle in Matt's jaw ticked as he grit his teeth, brow furrowed. His mouth opened and shut a few times, like he wanted to shoot back something smartassed, but couldn't think of anything to say. After a few minutes, he puffed out a frustrated breath and stepped back to let them in.

"Come in, then. I'm not helping you," He said quickly when Peter's face began to bloom with hope. "But if what you're saying is true, and you want to stay off Stark's radar, you'll need somewhere to stay," He grumbled.

Peter beamed at him anyway, anything but disheartened.

Behind him, a high pitched squeal shrieked through the hallway. Startled, Peter whirled around to see Deadpool pressing his hands to his cheeks and shuffling his feet giddily. He dove forward and caught both of them round the neck to squeeze them together to giggle wildly in their ears.

"We're gonna be _best friends_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this bit of exposition feels rushed, that's because it probably is. I don't know how to do a pacing :/ BUT! I have a feeling y'all aren't here for the exposition anyway. Y'all are here for Superior Starker goodness. On which note, is good, because Tony shows up next chapter :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the others because Tony demanded more attention.

It took Weasel a week to get all of Peter's paper ducks in a row. It took another two weeks for Peter to get settled in at Stark Industries enough to snoop around without being caught. 

Not to brag, but Peter had easily become the best intern there. His supervisor--a man named Elisha Yuks, a very unfortunate last name--wasted no time promoting Peter from intern to lab rat once he discovered that Peter was the only intern not to get lost on the way to the conference room that morning, and had remembered to bring in all of his paperwork. It kind of felt like cheating, since Peter knew the building like the back of his hand from day one, but if Peter was honest, he was surprised and unimpressed with the majority of potential interns that had stumbled into Stark Industries with him that first day. Besides, of course, the fact that they all looked like runway models.

It took a week and a half of being the most polite and reliable errand boy to ever gopher, along with subtly dropping hints about a certain compound he was working on, but Mr. Yuks (Jesus _Christ_ ) ultimately had no choice but to upgrade Peter's badge. It took three days for Peter to work up the nerve to actually start using that badge to get information out of the servers. Weasel had given him an unassuming USB drive to put everything on, swearing that not even Stark himself would be able to tell that the information had been copied.

Normally Peter would doubt the sincerity of someone claiming they could outwit Stark Tech, but he had also pinned Weasel as a bit of a black hat, so Peter's plan had at least a forty percent chance of success.

"That is," Weasel had drawled as he printed out Peter's paperwork and handed over the USB. "If you can actually do what you say you can. But I can see you're a script kiddie, so just plug in the sniffer and the spyware will make it easy for you, yeah? Don't fuck this up."

Peter was _not_ going to fuck this up, especially not after Weasel's not-so-subtle snide snubs about his competence. But so far, the only info he'd managed to scrape off the servers he had access to was all open to the public. There was another file though, that he could only access the bare bones of, but he could tell that there was more behind it. He knew, because when he had tried to examine it further, a little alert had popped up that read: **ACCESS DENIED - LEVEL 9 ONLY**.

Ned had always been the tech wiz of their little friend group, but that didn't mean that Peter didn't have his ways of getting level nine access. His ways including schmoozing, caffeninated bribery, and purposefully creating situations where his intelligence could be of use. Which, admittedly, was way less cool than hacking into a multi-million dollar company's files from a three screen spread in the comfort of his own bedroom.

Not that he had one now. Peter slept on the pull out couch in Matt's apartment and stayed out of the way when Foggy came to visit, as per their agreement. He always felt like an intruder when he was in Matt's house, but it was a neccessary discomfort.

But it was also why Peter was able to make himself ridiculously available for work. His hours were much higher than they ever could have been back in his dimension, but on the plus side, it meant that when he was promoted, Peter was raking in an absurd amount of cash. He took an evening to revisit Mrs. Chen and repay her for the clothes by buying a churro and leaving a wad of tens in the donation jar.

Now in clothes that fit, a pair of tortiouse shell ray bans with the lenses replaced, and an official lab journal tucked under his arm, Peter jogged up the steps to Stark Industries and flashed his badge at the security guard on duty. She nodded at him, and he dipped his head back as he ducked into the lobby. Peter's brow furrowed as he heard the familiar squawk of Mr. Yuks voice echo down the hall , and he changed course from the elevator to investigate. Mr. Yuks sounded panicked, and when Peter turned the corner and caught sight of him, the poor man looked damn near ready to have a stroke.

"No--No! That is unacceptable, do you hear me? Unacceptable! He is coming today, as in _two hours from now_ , and your work station looks like a hovel! Fix it this instant, Ms. Skirth, or you'll be out on your ass before you can say 'paperweight'." Mr. Yuks demanded as he flittered from desk to desk checking over everyone.

"Mr. Yuks?" Peter called hesitantly, unease swirling in his chest.

The man whirled around, eyes bugged, and let out a gusty breath at the sight of him. "Ah! Peter, wonderful. I need you to go upstairs and begin working on that compound you were showing me yesterday. Do you think you can have it to the testing stage by the end of today?"

Bewildered, Peter stepped further into the room and blinked. "I--Uh, well, I could, yes." But he didn't particularly _want_ to, seeing as he was taking a gamble with his web fluid here and he was kind of hoping to get what he needed and be back in his own dimension before he was forced to make it marketable to SI. "But, sir, what's all this about? I thought you didn't set the deadline for testing for another three weeks?"

A shrill, hysteric sound escaped Mr. Yuks mouth, and he flapped his hands like a distressed penguin as he continued to bound between work tables, correcting and scolding and threatening as he went. "Mr. Stark is paying us a visit today. Four months off schedule. Oh, normally I would have weeks to prepare, but then he just springs this on us, like there's nothing better for us to do than rearrange our schedules!"

From one of the desks to Peter's right, he heard a man say, "I'm definitely not complaining. If a terrified Yuks is all it takes for a few days of free Extremis, then count me in."

Peter swallowed. The USB in his lab coat felt like a hot coal burning into his side.

"I'll get started on the compound right away then, sir." He answered as he began to back out of the room. He needed to go have a crisis in the bathroom for a minute, so he could properly wrap his mind around the fact that Tony Stark, live and in the flesh, would be walking around the building in an hour. But, Peter reasoned frantically as his mind tried to descend into panic mode, there was no reason for Stark to see him today. None at all. Peter may have been a climbing lab rat, but he was still a lab rat--barely out of the intern stage. Stark wouldn't look twice at him unless Peter gave him a reason to.

"Good. Hopefully you'll be showing it off at the end of the day, Parker. You're the last stop on our check-up tour, so make sure you don't disappoint. I'd hate to see someone so talented get let go so early."

Oh. Oh no. Oh _God_ no.

As Peter's mind crashed into a hysterical mess not far from the one Yuks was currently sporting, he smiled at his superior and gave a polite, "Of course, sir."

' _Welp_ ,' Peter thought wildly as he made his way towards the elevator. ' _I'm fucked_.'

The elevator opened with a mournful ping, as if sharing his sentiment.

•✴️•

Making his web fluid wasn't exactly hard. Peter had been perfecting his formula for it for the past three years--he could probably make it in his sleep. No, what had Peter hovering over the nearly finished product with an eye dropper in hand, was his hesitancy to give it up.

Granted, it wasn't like Peter had loaded into a crappy version of one of his web shooters and started string things up. It was just an early form of the adhesive that could be used for things besides swinging from buildings, like holding them up or sealing wounds or safety nets. It wasn't really web fluid, it was just...fluid. But Peter couldn't help but look down at the loamy, white fizz and think, _"Mine."_

It was a vicious, possessive thought. One that was going to get him found out very quickly if he wasn't careful.

However, Peter's current dilemma wasn't giving his formula up, but rather _which_ formula he was going to give up. On one hand, if he gave over the early Spider-Man compound, its medicroity wouldn't do him any favors in getting level nine access. On the other, more prevelant hand, if Peter gave up his new and improved compound with about eight times more tensile strength than the original, not only would he be giving up his best work to a corporation that was just going to mass produce it with someone else's name on the label, but if it was impressive enough, he would also be giving Stark a reason to look at him. Just for a chance at level nine access. 

Peter hovered the last component for his newer formula over the beaker, lip caught between his teeth and brows furrowed. After another moment of indecision, he sighed and tossed the dropper in the sink. "It's not worth it," He grumbled. Moving over to start cleaning up his tubes and stirrers so that his work station would be pristine by the time Yuks got there, Peter huffed. "I'll get it some other way."

The methodical motions of rinsing his test tubes and washing his beakers put Peter somewhat at ease. The prospect of seeing Stark had him on edge. Tony had been his idol back in his dimension, and they had even been close. Well, as close as two people can be while one insisted on wearing a mask and being called by their alias. 

And then Tony had died. 

The grief Peter had felt...it had compromised him for far too long of a time. Not just at the loss of a friend, but at the loss of knowledge. It was only after Tony was gone that Peter realized that he didn't know what Tony's favorite color was, he didn't know if he preferred AC/DC over Led Zeppelin, he didn't know if he like coffee or tea, he didn't know anything about Tony. Nothing beyond the fact that he wore sarcasm like more of an armor than the Marks, listened to cheesy rock music, and had a mind like the cosmos and hands like Midas. Peter didn't know a lot of things that he suddenly wanted to, and now never would, because it felt disrespectful to ask Pepper and Peter couldn't look the rest of the Avengers in the eye.

But this wasn't his Tony. This was a Tony Stark that was everything his Tony had hated about himself. And Peter was terrified that Stark would walk into the room, and Peter wouldn't be able to resist launching himself at the man--whether to hug him or punch him, Peter didn't know.

Ironically, Peter dryly imagined holding himself back and simply demanding, " _How dare you stand where he stood?_ "

Because quoting Harry Potter was always a win.

Snorting to himself, Peter shook his head and put the last of his materials away. He wasn't going to do either of those things, because he was here on a mission to take Stark down, and he couldn't do that if he got fired. 

Which he most certainly would be, if he was anything other than polite and boring in the face of Stark.

Peter began setting up the testing trials on a separate table, and was about two thirds of the way done when the elevator dinged. He heard Yuks' voice, but the process of applying the compound to the testing models was a delicate one, so he didn't look up. "One moment, Mr. Yuks! I'll be right with you."

There was a nervous titter somewhere beside Peter's earlier work station, and Peter resolutely ignored it. Yuks sounded on the verge of a stroke, but Peter wasn't going to screw up his compound just because his superior was impatient. He was here to impress, not suck up.

...Okay, maybe a little sucking up was required, but not enough to make him abandoned an experiment, even if he already knew it worked. The scientist in him was indignant at the thought.

When Peter had finished setting it up, he turned to face Mr. Yuks, only to have the air punched from his lungs when he caught sight of Tony Stark standing beside him.

 _Fuck_.

Peter was wrong. He couldn't do this. Weasel was right, this was a horrible idea, because all Peter could think in the face of the tyrant was ' _He's back_.'

' _Get your shit together, Parker. Not your Iron Man,_ ' A voice that sounded far too much like Weasel sneered.

Right. Mission Impossible. Okay. What was he doing again? Right, normal and boring.

Peter eyed Stark with wary eyes, calming as he noted the differences he could see right off the bat. He was wearing a pristine white suit with a silver tie, aviators pushed up into his purposefully tousled hair. His beard was shaved normally, instead of in the shape of an hourglass.

( _Timeless, without time, sand running out like ash crumbling down his face--_ )

But the most notable difference, the one that tugged Peter back into reality, were those eyes. They were like shards of apatite, almost luminescent and so, so different from the pools of burning whiskey that had made up Tony's. These eyes weren't fire and brimstone, but plasma and lightening. The shallow front of a turbulent ocean, calm on the surface but always moments away from disaster. Peter's lips quirked. They looked deceiving. _Ha._

"Sorry about the delay, but it's a bit of a delicate process," Peter replied to Mr. Yuks' pointed look, an oblivious smile on his lips.

"Yes, well," Yuks began, slightly sour. "Why don't you walk us through it? The testing stage, that is. How is it coming along?"

"It's working just like I said it would." Peter moved to address the first model, relieved that Yuks was doing all the talking. "The compound holds up the structure without compromising the structural integrity, and solidifies and releases at a touch." He slid his finger along the spongy substance holding up the stack of metal blocks on the table until he reached the trigger point. The fibers went slack and the blocks toppled to the tabletop. 

"And what's the practical application of this compound?" Stark interrupted before Peter could continue. Before, he had looked vaguely bored, as if he was just going through the motions of inspection, but now he was staring at Peter intensely, interest plain on his face.

Peter wasn't so sure that was a good thing.

"Oh, Mr. Stark, I explained on the way up--" Yuks started, only to be cut off.

"I obviously wasn't listening to you," Stark drawled. He tugged his sunglasses off his head to point them at Peter. "I want to hear it from him."

Yuks spluttered, but ultimately shrunk back so Stark could sidle up next to the testing table. He cocked a dark brow at Peter, who swallowed under the sudden force of Stark's gaze. Christ, those eyes were piercing. Like they could see into his soul.

Peter steeled himself and met Stark's stare head on, unafraid. "A bit of everything, sir. Construction, diaster relief, as a way to build temporary shelters or hold up crumbling buildings to give people more time to either evacuate or rebuild. Medicinal purposes as an alternative to cauterization or stitches, as well as a more cost effective clean seal for wounds. It's tensile strength also has the potential to securely hold up to a thousand pounds. Here."

Taking the soupy adhesive from the tabletop, Peter pressed the trigger point again and tossed it up at the ceiling, one end still in his hand. It stuck, and the leftover momentum pulled Peter up with it. Working fast, he stuck the other end to the ceiling as well and flipped around quickly so that instead of crashing back down to the floor, he landed safely in the curve of the compound. It held, and Peter couldn't help but smile at the looks on the faces of the men below. The urge to preen was real.

"Granted, I'm not a thousand pounds, but you get the idea." Peter hummed as he reached back to grab the apex of the makeshift swing and swing himself back through it so that he could drop back down to the floor. It took some maneuvering, but he managed it.

Peter straightened up and his pride faltered when he caught sight of the look Stark was pinning him with. It was dark look, hungry, that should not have fit well on Tony's face but somehow did. Blindingly white teeth flashed as Stark sent him a lilted grin. "Mm, pretty, smart, and flexible. Anything you can't do, Peter?"

Peter had a small heart attack before he remembered that he was wearing a name tag. Then he proceeded to have another one, because _oh my God did Stark just hit on him?_

No, Peter decided. Nope. That didn't just happen. He was obviously hallucinating. 

' _Wouldn't be the first time,_ ' Peter thought, bitterly thinking of Mysterio. 

"I haven't figured out how to make the compound fire resistant yet, sir, and I'm no good at art." Peter replied simply, just to be safe. This only seemed to amuse Stark, however.

"I don't know," He mused. He looked up the loop of white hanging from the ceiling. "That looks like art to me. I'm impressed with it. How much?"

"E-Excuse me?" Peter stuttered, wide eyed.

"Compensation. How much do you for the patent?" Stark repeated slowly, as if Peter was a slow but very cute puppy.

That possessive snake coiled in his chest lurched up and snarled, "Mine!" 

Peter stuffed it down and narrowed his eyes at Stark. "That depends on what you intend to do with it."

Stark blinked at him, as if surprised that Peter hadn't just shouted out a number. He seemed to take another look at Peter, reevaluating. "I intend to put it the Starkbots to make them more efficient in crises. Once I tweak it, of course. Make it better."

Hackles raised, Peter's gaze sharpened into a full on glare. "You can't have it."

Stark's eyes narrowed right back. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," Peter said, because he couldn't not. Yuks made a strangled noise behind them. "I said you can't have it. However, you're welcome to work on it with my supervision, and welcome to use it for the purposes I approve of." He apparently hadn't shoved it down far enough.

Molten blue eyes regarded him shrewdly for a moment, and Peter was sure that he was about to be fired, or sued. Maybe murdered. Stark looked like he could get away with it.

Instead, Stark smirked and leaned back, eyebrows raised. "You're serious, huh? Not going to give it up easy?"

Peter got the feeling that the last bit had a double meaning. For the sake of his sanity, he wasn't going to look at it too closely. Peter shifted in front of the testing table to block the rest of the compound from Stark's sight. It just seemed to amuse him further. "All due respect, sir, I'm about as willing to give it up as you would be to give up Extremis."

That was dangerous. Incredibly dangerous, and even Yuks knew it because he stumbled back from both of them and let out a wheeze of terror. Peter was caught between wanting to backpedal and not wanting to seem weak, the fate of his elaborate plan hanging in the balance.

The dark look was back, more intense than before as Stark raked his eyes up from Peter's squared stance all the way up to his irritated glare. That brilliant smile flashed again, whiter than snow, and Stark laughed. He pushed his aviators back up into his hair with a hum. "Okay then, Petey. I can play the long game." He turned on heel and strode toward the elevator. Snapping his fingers at Yuks, who yelped and lept to follow him, Stark ordered, "I'll be New York for a while longer. Move him upstairs; the labs on level nine should suffice."

"B-But, sir, he's barely been here a month! He's still almost an intern!" Yuks stammered, his limbs all over the place again as panic and confusion took over once more.

"Then promote him," Stark drawled derisively as he stepped into the elevator. "Before I decide that he can do more in a month than you can in a year and you get _replaced_." With that he pressed the button for his floor and sent Peter a wink. "I look forward to working with you, pretty."

Then the elevator had closed, leaving both of them gawking after it. Peter shut his mouth with a click.

Well.

That was one way to get level nine access.


	4. Chapter 4

"Stop laughing!"

Deadpool didn't. He just continued to cackle like a deranged hyena as Weasel watched both of them with impassive, unimpressed eyes. As Peter seethed, Weasel raised an eyebrow. "I don't see what you've got your panties all in a twist for. Doesn't this make it easier for you to do your thing?"

"No," Peter hissed. He buried his head in his hands. "This just means he knows I exist and that he's going to be actively looking at everything I do from here on out."

"Or, ya know, just looking at your ass," Deadpool gasped out between giggles. He apparently found Peter's predicament hilarious.

"There's an idea," Weasel drawled. "Just act like an thoughtless himbo and turn his interest downward instead," He finished with a lazy wave of his hand.

"If I were a thoughtless himbo I wouldn't have caught his attention. A sudden personality change so soon after I met him would be suspicious." Peter bit out. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I need a drink."

Weasel raised an eyebrow and gave him a once over. "I doubt you're twenty one."

Peter gave him a glower that would've made a lesser man bolt with his tail tucked between his legs. "You arrange contracts for murder for a living."

Unphased, Weasel reached over, grabbed a cherry from the basket behind the counter, and snapped off the stem. "Touche," He grumbled as he poured Peter a very, very small glass of rum. Weasel handed the stem to Deadpool and tucked the cherry into his own cheek with his thumb. "Drink responsibly, kids."

"Only you can prevent wild fires," Deadpool replied in a solemn, gruff voice.

Peter blinked. "What?"

"He does that, sometimes," Weasel drawled. He shrugged as he continued to half-assedly clean the shot glasses stacked on the bartop. "Anyway, if you don't like our advice, why don't run off and go ask Devil-May-Care. Or, if what Captain Dickwipes here told me about him is true, Devil- _Doesn't_ -Care."

Raising an eyebrow right back, Peter raised the glass to his lips and scoffed. "You think you two were my first choice? I went to Matt first."

Deadpool perked up, interested. "I bet that was a shitshow. What'd he say?"

Throwing the shot back with a grimace, Peter immediately coughed. "Ugh, that is _awful_. Why do people drink this stuff?" Peter shook his head, ignored Weasel's muttered 'Pansy', and continued. "He said that I should, and I quote, 'give up and get the app, maybe move to Canada if you have to'. Needless to say, I'm not going to do that."

"You better fucking not," Weasel barked irritable. "I've already put well over a thousand dollars into your ass, so if you back out now, you'll owe me. Big time." He slid a thin black rectangle across the counter at Peter. When he picked it up, he realized it was a Stark phone. Peter's brow furrowed, and he glanced up at Weasel questioningly. "It'll look suspicious if you work for Stark and you don't have a phone. Especially since everybody who has the money has one, because that's how you get access to Extremis. The app is downloaded on that, along with your info and a few fake texting threads. I added in some internet history too, just for you. Anyway, if Stark's taking an interest in you, that means he's gonna hack all of your shit. And you are so, so lucky I fucking prepared for that, Boy Wonder, or you would be twinkified toast right now. Medical history, school report cards, everything and it's grandmother—all there for Tony Stark's perusal as he searches for the fastest route into your pants. You're fucking _welcome_."

"R-Right," Peter managed to spit out after a moment. He clutched the phone to his chest, face pale and head spinning. "Thank you." He hadn't even thought about things like that, let alone known how to aquire them. It appeared that despite not looking like much, Weasel would make a formidable supervillian. And though Deadpool insisted that Weasel was far too lazy to ever go through with it, Peter would do well not to get on his bad side. 

As if having turned temporarily deaf for that entire exchange, Deadpool continued, "But Ratman has a point--"

"Ratman?" Weasel demanded incredulously.

"Petey, he's all logic," Deadpool went on, like he hadn't heard. "You never heard the phrase 'Seduce and Subdue'?"

"No. Probably because it's something you just made up."

"Aw c'mon! It's like you've never seen Hustlers!" The mercenary whined. "Basic Bitch Protocol, Miranda. Anyway, the point is, the closer you are to Stark, the easier it will be for you to take out Extremis, right? And having his dick in your ass is about as close as you can get without fusing together like some sort of uber attractive, mentally unstable Harvey Dent."

"Who?" 

Weasel rolled his eyes and returned to wiping down the glasses. "He's saying let Stark rearrange your guts in order to accomplish your damn mission or whatever; literally exactly what I said earlier, but whatever."

Peter flushed even as a scowl twisted his lips. "I doubt getting it wet is going to magically make Stark want to spill all his confidential info to me."

Deadpool snorted. "That's why you take it while he's asleep. You know, after you've sexed his brain out?"

Peter opened and closed his mouth a few times, speechless even as he tried to think of a good argument, before leaning back and crossing his arms. "I don't like this."

"Tough luck, Buttercup!"

"No one gives a shit what you do or don't like, just do it right."

"Wow. Thanks. I feel so inspired." Peter deadpanned, irritated. Tucking the phone into his pocket, Peter stood and started for the door. "Don't wait up for me."

Before Weasel could snark or Deadpool could pester, Peter was out of the bar. He immediately slung himself around the side of the building, the buzz of those damn drones much closer than normal. Peter pressed himself against the wall, heart thudding loudly in his ears as he watched, wide eyed, as two of them went by. That was close. Had he been five seconds later walking out the door, he would've walked out right in front of them. Peter clenched his jaw.

_If Stark's taking an interest in you, he's gonna hack all of your shit._

Could those things have been looking for Peter? If Stark had looked through their video feed searching for him, it would have looked strange if Peter wasn't in any of them. Which he wouldn't have been, because he'd been avoiding them ever since he landed here. Shit. He would need to come up with a good excuse, preferably before he had to go back to work tomorrow.

But for now, Peter had more important things to do.

•✴️•

"Are you _insane_?" Matt squawked as he tried to tug Peter's bag out of his hands.

"Trust me, this is the sanest thing I've considered all day," Peter sniped as he managed to yank his backpack out of Matt's desperate hands. "Besides, why do you care? If I get caught, it's nothing on you." He turned and made his way to the bathroom, hastily locking the door behind him when Matt followed.

"I care because I'm letting you live in my house while you plan treason, you walnut! Do you understand how incriminating that is?" Matt shouted. He banged on the door, as if trying to knock some sense into Peter by sound alone.

Peter tugged his mask down over his face with a sigh. "Just say you didn't know. You used to be a hero, right? They'll believe you if you tell them that you wanted to help the local 'homeless kid'. You know, being a good samartitan. You remember what that's like, don't you?"

There a long moment of silence on the other side of the door, and when Matt spoke again, he sounded...odd. Cold, and blank. Monotone. "Fine then. Go. See if I come to your rescue."

An annoyed ' _I didn't ask you to_ ' jumped to the tip of Peter's tongue, but he bit it back at the last moment. He hesitated by the open window, conflicted, but if he was going to say anything else, he missed his chance. Footsteps trailed back into the living room, and Peter let out a heavy breath. He probably should have stayed, should have went back out there and apologized, but Peter was self-aware enough to know that whatever would come out of his mouth right now wouldn't lend itself to polite conversation. So instead, he quietly unlocked the bathroom door, took a moment to listen for drones, then slung himself out the window. 

Air whistled past his ears as he shot out a web towards the nearest building to swing himself up higher. A giddy laugh escaped his lips as he twisted midair, shot out another web, and fell easily back into the familiar rhythm of swinging. It felt good to just let loose for a bit, especially after the past few weeks.

But Peter couldn't goof around for very long. He had some drones to take care of, after all. 

He couldn't just destroy the ones around Matt's apartment building--that really would be suspicious. But, thanks to Ned and MJ, Peter knew a thing or two about misdirection. So he swung out of Hell's Kitchen to start in Midtown. He hated to bring attention to his old haunt, but it wasn't really his anymore—or, he should say, it never had been. Not in this universe, at least.

Peter swung up near Midtown Science, fully prepared to wait a while for a drone to pass by, only for three of them to emerge just as he settled down on the nearest roof. He hauled himself back to his feet with a groan. "Well, they have one thing going for them," Peter grumbled and he lept off the roof to chase after the little white bots. "They certainly keep me on my toes." 

And wasn't there something to be said for how, when Mysterio's mocking voice echoed through his head at the reminder, Peter was able to let it roll off his shoulders. Peter had learned his lesson after the Vulture, of course; he knew that the suit wasn't what made him Spider-Man. But there was something about donning the mask—in any form it came in—that boosted his confidence, strengthened his resolve, and (some would say unfortunately) loosened his tongue. But mindless drones weren't the best partners in terms of witty banter, so Peter really only needed the first two this time.

He kicked the first drone into a brick wall, where it promptly bounced off and whirled to face him. The other two followed suit, turning to address the newfound threat. Peter circled them, then dove for the one furthest from the building, accidentally crushing it when it began to thrash in his grasp. It sparked, sputtered, and died. The remaining two didn't like that, it seemed, because their little indicator lights went from blue to red. Peter winced. A panel slid open on the side of the drones' hulls, and a small barrel poked out. 

"Oh shit."

Peter managed to hastily drop his web and sling out another one, just in time for the white bolts of light that erupted from the drones to miss him. One passed by centimeters from his face, and the overpowering stench of ozone and plasma soaked into his nose and raised his hair on end. Whatever that thing was, he was certain that getting hit with it wouldn't be fun. Luckily, his spidey sense kept him away from most of them, while others singed his suit because they were just a smidgen faster than he was.

Eventually he managed to swing up in between them and, in a stroke of luck, they hit each other. Both drones shorted out in a burst of sparks, then crashed to the ground. Given the time, Peter was glad he had decided not to try and confront these things in a subdivision. As it was, Peter was surprised nobody had come running at the sound of such a racket. 

Dropping down from the side of the building, Peter cautiously crawled forward towards the remains of the drones. They were dented, and obviously fried, but all Peter really needed was a look at their inner workings. He poked one with a hesitant finger, then picked it up when it failed to shock him or start shooting at him again. The hull was made of some lightweight metal that was easy enough for him to peel back, but Peter was surprised to find a light still on inside it. It blinked idly up at him, red, but much less threatening the indicator lights had been. Peter figured it was probably a tracker. He ripped it out.

Satisfied for the moment, Peter began to rummage through the drone's inner workings. He spotted the laser from earlier, four scanners behind the front camera hooked up to the powerhouse in the center, which Peter assumed was broadcasting all of the drone's information to Stark's database. There were a few other things cluttered within the hull, but he couldn't make heads or tails of them.

"This thing is way more complicated than I thought it would be," Peter grumbled.

"They also cost more than you would sell for on the black market," A familiar, mechanized voice replied. "Which is a shame really, because I'd like my money back after I throw you in the trash, where you belong." Stark was hovering just above the building Peter had first settled on, across from the school, visor gone. Which meant that he was pissed enough to come in person.

 _Fuck_. 

Stark bared his teeth in a brilliant grin gone feral. "Hey there, Charolette. _You're on my turf._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the rest, if you couldn't tell, mostly due to the fact that I like ending on cliffhangers. What can ya do? But next chapter is fight scenes galore :D (okay it's just one but still).


End file.
